forty-sixth night

i cremated him and spread his ashes in the ocean.

the police had questions, questions i could not answer, but i told the truth when i could and lied when i had to. his death was ruled as an accident.

i dreamed about paul last night. he was telling me a story:

once upon a time, there was a tiger who was so large that it was nine feet between its lungs. its roar could tumble walls and knock out teeth. its name is tigris. it is not your enemy.

he smiled at me and then looked up into the air and said:

your enemy is bar-yuchnei, the bird whose wings can blot out the sun. it will crash around you and pull you away. you must not go. don't let go, sherry. don't let go.

i'm not letting go. i am back.

and there are more nights to come.